


Fire and Ice

by orionreece



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Gay Beau Swan, M/M, Trans Bella Swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionreece/pseuds/orionreece
Summary: Renee Dwyer fled Forks, to escape the husband she cheated on, and the consequences that she would have to face. She fled with her baby, at the time daughter but now son. When Beau Swan returns to Forks, the Cullen's trigger the dormant magic within. Beau shifts into a wolf, and meets his brother.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, a grey muscle tank top; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this small town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother ran with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been happy to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year Renee finally put her foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead. 

It was to Forks that I now sent myself— an action that I took with great satisfaction. I loved Forks, or rather, I loved my Dad.. I also loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Beau," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with longer hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I said, the truth showing in my sincere voice. 

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

“Do you have your prescription? Your needles?” She asked, concern shining in her eyes. I shot a smile at her and nodded.

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise. "Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom." She hugged me tightly for a minute, her head tucked under my chin, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with my Dad, Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Dad had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car. Neither of us were what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. But the comfortable silence we usually sat in was nice, a different change than my chatty mother.

I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — my mother had never hid the fact that she had never wanted me to come to Forks, where she made a huge mistake in her life. Getting tied down to Charlie and cheating on him, creating me.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Dad was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop. 

Dad gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane. My head came up to his eyes. We were nearly the same height, I thought, happily. 

"It's good to see you, Beau," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. 

"You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad."

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scarce. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car." But it wasn’t unwelcome. Even I knew how bad of a klutz I was.

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy." That piqued my interest.

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast. But my memory isn’t the best.

"No." My tone urged him to continue.

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted. 

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap." 

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. 

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really." I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. 

"When did he buy it?" 

"He bought it in 1984, I think." 

"Did he buy it new?" 

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly. 

"Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Beau, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore." The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least. 

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on. 

"Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression. Wow. Free. He even added the “son” to soften the news. It worked. A rush of affection and gratitude bloomed in my chest as my mouth quirked up in a smile. 

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car." But he heard the thankfulness in my voice. I had used all my savings for top surgery. 

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded, a smile still on my lips. 

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks. 

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence. It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was almost too green — an alien planet. 

Eventually we made it to Dad’s. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. 

It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. Not really surprised, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. 

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. 

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again. It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. He had also painted over the pink the walls had been, it looked like he had done that some time ago. It was now a pleasant pale blue.

The desk now held a second hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. 

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. One of the best things about Dad is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. 

It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain. I was dreading going to school. Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. 

All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new guy from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. Maybe, if I looked like a guy from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, blond — a football player, or basketball perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. My pale skin also had a yellow-russet undertone, so slight that it just made me look odd. 

I had always been slender, but with sort of built, wiry muscles somehow, although obviously I was not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. 

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be attractive— it was very clear — but it all depended on color. I had no color here. 

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. 

Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. 

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. 

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning. You could never see the sky here; I didn’t mind it much. Breakfast with Dad was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. 

Dad left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. 

My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. 

First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures from Junior High up to last year's. I’m glad he had taken down the ones where I had presented as female. Those were embarrassing to look at.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. 

The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood. 

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Dad had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. 

The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected. Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. 

The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors? 

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. 

I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. 

The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed. The red-haired woman looked up. 

"Can I help you?" 

"I'm Beauregard Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Son of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last. 

"Of course," she said. 

She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for.

"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe. 

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. 

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. 

Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. 

I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. 

I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door. The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I kept mine on, even though it was damp. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here. 

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. 

I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on. 

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with acne and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Beauregard Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type. 

"Beau," I corrected. 

Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. 

"Where's your next class?" he asked. I had to check in my bag. 

"Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six." 

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. 

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful. 

"I'm Eric," he added. I smiled tentatively. 

"Thanks." 

Eric retrieved his jacket and we headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid. 

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked. 

"Very." 

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?" 

"Three or four times a year." 

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered. 

"Sunny," I told him. 

"You don't look very tan." I suppressed my cringe of embarrassment and tried to make a joke. 

"My mother is part albino." 

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. 

"Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful. 

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside. The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat. 

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map. 

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet ten inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. 

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. 

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. 

There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. 

But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention. They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students. 

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. And yet, they were all exactly alike. Something about them set my teeth on edge.

Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular. 

But all this is not why I couldn't look away. I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. 

It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy. They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. 

As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging. 

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten. As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once.

In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did. 

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath. 

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them. 

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I was named Beauregard, and I originated in this town. I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home. 

"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement. 

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. 

"They're all together though — Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip. 

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…" 

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins — the blondes — and they're foster children." 

"They look a little old for foster children." 

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that." 

"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything." 

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. 

"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness. I felt a flash of dislike flow through me at her words, but let it go. Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. 

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here. 

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. 

"They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska." 

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation. 

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again. 

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. 

“Maybe he likes boys.” I suggested, almost timidly. The look Jessica shot me was disbelief, and she didn’t say more. 

I wondered when he'd turned her down. I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again. 

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. 

When we entered the classroom, Angela smiled at me and went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat. 

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black. 

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me. 

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my shoulder. I smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I slouched down in my chair and tried to pay attention to the teacher. 

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes in my usual scribble chicken scratch anyway, always looking down. I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally at the strange boy next to me. 

During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother. 

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? Or for him to lunge at me? He never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? Did he know?

I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought. It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Adam. I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind. 

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was much taller than I'd thought — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat. I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn't fair. 

I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

"Aren't you Beauregard Swan?" A female voice asked. 

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. She obviously didn't think I smelled bad. "Beau," I corrected her, with a smile. 

"I'm McKayla." 

"Hi, McKayla." 

"Do you need any help finding your next class?" 

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it." 

"That's my next class, too." She seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small. We walked to class together; she was a chatterer — she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. She'd lived in California until she was ten, so she knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out she was in my English class. 

She was the nicest person I'd met today. But as we were entering the gym, she asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb. 

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly. 

"Yes," she said. "He looked like he was in pain or something." 

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him." 

"He's a weird guy." McKayla lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. 

"If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you." 

I smiled at her before walking through the boys' locker room door. She was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation. The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. 

Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth. I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained — and inflicted — playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated. The final bell rang at last. 

I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself. When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. 

I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time — any other time. I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. 

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome — with piercing, hate-filled eyes. 

For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist. 

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help."

And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip. 

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally. 

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. 

She didn't look convinced. When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day was better… and worse. I had woken up to a dew of sweat covering my body. It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. McKayla came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at her all the while; that was nattering. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. 

I sat with a big group at lunch that included McKayla, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it. 

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator. 

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them. McKayla intercepted us and steered us to her table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. 

But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false. He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense. 

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. McKayla, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. 

I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. McKayla followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something about McKayla, and it wouldn't be easy. 

In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly girls. I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. 

It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was because he knew that I was transgender. When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. 

I hurried from the boys' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed. 

Last night I'd discovered that Dad couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway. 

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear splitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. 

Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins.

With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here. 

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty. They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds. 

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. 

The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was. When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge. 

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a pony-tail, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages. 

"Beau," my mom wrote… 

“Write to me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.”

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first. "Beau," she wrote… 

“Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.”

The last was from this morning. 

“Beauregard, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.”

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun. 

“Mom, Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash. Beau.” I sent that, and began again. 

“Mom, Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch. Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday. Dad bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me. I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you. Beau.”

I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currently studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Dad came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil. 

"Beau?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs. Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home." 

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose. 

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily.

My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back. 

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved. He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table. I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room. 

"Smells good, Beau."

"Thanks." We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together. 

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds. 

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this other girl, McKayla, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception. 

"That must be McKayla Newton. Nice kid — nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here." After another pause of eating I spoke.

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly. 

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man." 

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school." Charlie surprised me by looking angry. 

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. 

"We're lucky to have him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk." It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying. I backpedaled. 

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary. 

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around." 

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making. 

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted, sparing just enough time to administer my testosterone shot in my stomach. The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way. 

Edward Cullen didn't come back to school. Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that McKayla was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry. Speaking of hot, I had been running a little warm since I got here, I must’ve picked up some bug.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed. 

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mails. 

I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well. 

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, McKayla took her accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy. 

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here. When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. I watched the flakes melt when they landed on me. 

"Wow," McKayla said. "It's snowing." I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face. 

"Ew." Snow. There went my good day. She looked surprised. 

"Don't you like snow?" 

"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. 

"Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips." 

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously. 

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV." 

McKayla laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the wrong direction for his next class. 

McKayla apparently had the same notion. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush. 

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside." She just nodded, her eyes on Eric's retreating figure. 

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks. 

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself. 

McKayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting the spikes in her hair. Her and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table. Jessica pulled on my arm. 

"Hello? Beau? What do you want?" I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong. 

"What's with Beau?" McKayla asked Jessica. 

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line. 

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked. 

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor. It wasn’t a lie. I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet. I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice McKayla asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. 

I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour. Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was. I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. 

None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little. They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. 

They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us. But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. 

I examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change. 

"Beau, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare. 

At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine. I dropped my head, letting my hood of my jacket conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way. 

"Edward Cullen is looking at you," Jessica giggled in my ear. She was the only one who had gotten the hint that I was gay. 

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help but ask. 

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?" 

"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm. 

"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you." 

"Stop looking at him," I hissed. She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted. McKayla interrupted us then — she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at McKayla left little doubt that she would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. 

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again. I didn't really want to walk to class with McKayla as usual — she seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. 

It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym. McKayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four. Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. 

Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook. I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing. 

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice. I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful. 

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan." My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say. 

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered. He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh. 

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive." I grimaced. I knew it was something like that. 

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?" He seemed confused. 

"Do you prefer Beauregard?" 

"No, I like Beau," I said. "But I think Charlie — I mean my dad — must call me Beauregard behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron. 

"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly. 

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right. 

"Get started," he commanded. 

"You first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot. 

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent. 

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead." I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. 

I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly. My assessment was confident. 

"Prophase." 

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately, his brow furrowed slightly. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had. 

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily. 

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke. I kept my voice indifferent. 

"May I?" He smirked and pushed the microscope to me. I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Damn it, he was right. 

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him. He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. I took the most fleeting look I could manage. 

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl. We were finished before anyone else was close. 

I could see McKayla and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table. Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in his face. 

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. 

"No." 

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes." He shrugged, and looked away. 

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me — the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. 

I didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word. I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again. 

Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers. "So, Edward, didn't you think Beauregard should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked. 

"Beau," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five." Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical. 

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked. I smiled sheepishly. 

"Not with onion root." 

"Whitefish blastula?" 

"Yeah." Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?" 

"Yes." 

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again. 

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. 

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate. 

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question. 

"Or the wet." 

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused. 

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly. He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded. 

"Why did you come here, then?" No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding. 

"It's… complicated." 

"I think I can keep up," he pressed. I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking. 

"My mother got remarried," I said, leaving out the part that I was trans. That would destroy the entire reason I came here. 

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. 

"When did that happen?" 

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me. 

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind. 

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough." 

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important. 

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response. I snorted, my mouth lifting into an amused smile. 

"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot." 

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question. My chin raised a fraction. 

"No, she did not send me here. I sent myself." His eyebrows knit together. 

"I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact. I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity. 

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished. 

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out. 

"Not immensely. And if I am, so what?" I challenged. 

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense. I laughed without humor. 

"Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair." 

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way. His gaze became appraising. 

"You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see." I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away. 

"Am I wrong?" I tried to ignore him. 

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly. 

"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds. 

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get. I sighed, scowling at the blackboard. 

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused. I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again. 

"Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned. 

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it. 

"You must be a good reader then," I replied. 

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth. It was more teeth than most smiles and for the second time involving the Cullen family, it set my teeth on edge. 

Sighing, I pulled my shirt away from my body, trying to dispel the heat that had been torturing me for the last week. I discreetly wiped the sweat from my brow, but of course he noticed. 

“Are you alright?” He questioned, golden eyes peering into mine, shining with what seemed to be concern. I sighed. 

“Oh it’s nothing. Just this stupid fever I’ve had since I started school. Must’ve caught a bug, or something.” I waved off, turning back towards the board. 

“Must have…” Edward murmured, quietly. 

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension. 

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable. When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement. 

McKayla skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined her with a wagging tail. 

"That was awful," she groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner." 

"I didn't really have any trouble with it," I said, stung by her assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. 

"I've done the lab before, though," I added before she could get her feelings hurt. 

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," she commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. I tried to sound indifferent. 

"I wonder what was with him last Monday." I couldn't concentrate on McKayla’s chatter as we walked to Gym. It didn't do much to hold my attention, either. McKayla was on my team today. She chivalrously covered my position as well as her own, so my wool gathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up. 

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I ignored the heater, already hot enough, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the air could dry it on the way home. I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure.

Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. 

I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid — coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.

Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about his eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect face. I was well aware that my league and his league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn't be at all anxious to see him today.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about McKayla and Eric, and the obvious difference in how teenagers responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that the people back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence, and transition, and still thought of me that way. 

Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress. Whatever the reason, McKayla’s puppy dog behavior and Eric's apparent rivalry with her were disconcerting. I wasn't sure if I didn't prefer being ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires.

There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies.

Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

A low oath made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize.

Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt — exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.

"Beau? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he was holding me against the side of his body in an iron grasp.

"Be careful," he warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.

"Ow," I said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." His voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter.

"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Beau," he said, his tone serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time he let me, releasing his hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as he could in the limited space. I looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his gold-colored eyes. What was I asking him?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's wet," I complained. It surprised me when he chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound. I was sitting in a small puddle, which was od, seeing as the rest of the ground was covered in ice.

"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and his chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

His expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and he was going to admit it.

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

"No." I set my jaw.

The gold in his eyes blazed. "Please, Beau."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Trust me," he pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming.

I could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," I repeated angrily.

It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp — to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edward got to ride in the front. It was maddening.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

"Beau!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper — a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Edward's shoulders… as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame…

And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their brother's safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen — a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. I ground my teeth together.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

"Beau, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Tyler — you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

"Umm… Edward pulled me out of the way."

He looked confused. "Who?"

"Edward Cullen — he was standing next to me." I'd always been a terrible liar; I didn't sound convincing at all.

"Cullen? I didn't see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher."

I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen. They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Other than the fever.

Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tyler's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me.

No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

"Is he sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at him. It wasn't easy — it would have been more natural to ogle.

"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry —" Tyler began.

Edward lifted a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing his brilliant teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Tyler's bed, facing me. He smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asked me.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," I complained. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond… and he was handsomer than any movie star I'd ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edward's father.

"So, Mister Swan," Dr. Cullen said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Edward.

The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not really." I'd had worse.

I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Edward's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

"This fever is concerning though. Are you aware of it?” He asked, looking at the thermometer. 100 degrees. I sighed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine though. It’s probably some bug. I noticed it after my first day of school.”

I didn’t miss the look Carlisle sent to Edward, but I let it go.

“Well, your father is in the waiting room — you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to be attentive.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I glanced at Edward. "Does he get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edward said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," I moaned, covering my face with my hands.

Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly — I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. He looked concerned.

"I'm fine," I assured him again. No need to tell him my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Tyler, and began checking his cuts.

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edward's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I hissed under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your father is waiting for you," he said through his teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Tyler.

"I'd like to speak with you alone, if you don't mind," I pressed.

He glared, and then turned his back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.

His unfriendliness intimidated me, but spurred my anger. My words came out with less severity than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded him.

"I saved your life — I don't owe you anything."

I flinched back from the resentment in his voice. "You promised."

"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." His tone was cutting.

My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at him. "There's nothing wrong with my head." 

He glared back. "What do you want from me, Beau?"

"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you think happened?" he snapped.It came out in a rush. 

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me — Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both — and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all — and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up…" I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn't continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my teeth together. 

He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

I merely nodded once, jaw tight. I clenched my shaking hands into fists.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held an edge of derision now.

"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across his face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I insisted. "I don't like to lie — so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

“Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly.

He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," he whispered.

And then he turned his back on me and walked away. I let loose a frustrated noise and on instinct, slammed a fist into the wall. I froze as my hand broke through, showering me in plaster dust. I was still so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway. I ignored the frozen Edward, staring at me from the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. I was still aggravated, not in the mood for chitchat.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I sighed. McKayla and Jessica and Eric were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief— the first time I'd ever felt that way — to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edward's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I'd witnessed.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

"Um… you'll need to call Renée." He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. "You told Mom!"

"Sorry."

I slammed the cruiser's door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home — forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment — but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Edward presented. And more than a little obsessed with Edward himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn't as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. 

“I’m going for a walk. I’m hot, the rain should cool me down.” I said shortly, not bothering to let Dad answer as I made my way outside. My hands were still trembling. I walked a short distance into the trees, enough that Charlie couldn’t see me. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about Edward, which in turn fueled my anger. The shaking from my hands traveled through my entire body, and I didn’t have it in me to be concerned. Suddenly, I heard a ripping sound, and my entire body flared in pain. I could feel my bones breaking and healing, which should have been impossible. 

I cried out, and then landed on all fours. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. The anger was gone, in its place confusion and fear from the pain that had washed over me. An odd sound surrounded me. A high pitched whining, almost. It was coming from me. 

_ Hey, chill out. No use in getting worked up.  _ A sudden voice said in my head, that was decidedly not my own. 

_ What the fuck!  _ Was my immediate thought, and I could feel amusement that wasn’t my own. 

_ Just calm down. I’m on my way to you, I’ll explain everything until Sam gets here.  _ I didn’t even try to guess at who Sam was. I had just noticed my feet. Or, I should have said, my paws. Snow white paws! Like a fucking dog! What the fuck! 

Suddenly, I heard a thumping. It sounded like something was running towards me. On instinct my hackles raised and a low threatening growl rumbled through my chest, shocking me and whoever was coming, as their footsteps stuttered. Then, it came into view. It was a wolf. It was a light grey, and it looked cautious as it approached. 

_ It’s just me. My name is Paul. _ The voice in my head said, and the wolf tilted it’s head. Oh  _ shit.  _ I was a wolf? A whimper escaped my mouth and my knees came close to buckling. Before Paul could say anything more, another wolf approached. It was much larger than Paul, and midnight black. An air of authority radiated from them. Instinctively I bared my throat with a whimper. 

_ I’m Sam. The alpha of this pack. What’s your name?  _ A different voice rumbled through my mind. 

_ Beau. Beau Swan.  _ I could feel the shock that rippled through them, and through another wolf’s presence in my mind. 

_ Were you adopted? The only way for you to become one of us is if Quileute blood runs through your veins.  _ That made sense in a weird way. 

_ Uh my mom cheated on my dad, with someone Lahote? Terrance, I think.  _ Paul snarled, teeth baring and causing me to snarl back in warning. Sam barked loudly, and we both stopped, lowering our snouts slightly. 

_ Okay, the next step is to get you to shift back. You need to rein in your anger, whatever is causing it.  _ Prompting, Edward Cullen’s face flashed through my mind, making both wolves pause. Sam continued.  _ Just imagine your wolf melting away, as you become human again.  _ I snorted, but closed my eyes and did what he said. 

Within seconds I could feel something. It crackled in the air and made my body tingle, and then I was a naked human, crouching on the forest floor. My male form yet complete lack of dick made Paul tilt his head at me. I rolled my eyes at him and looked to Sam. 

“Now what?” 


	4. Chapter 4

Paul had shifted back as well, taking a pair of shorts that had been tied to his ankle and pulling them on. 

“Okay, so we’re gonna head back to your house. I’ll climb into your room and grab you some clothes so as to not alarm Charlie. Then, you’ll go to bed. Tomorrow, Billy will invite you and Charlie to the reservation, to explain everything. No use trying to hide it from the chief of police.” Paul explained. I nodded, and uncomfortably crossed my arms over my chest on instinct. The scars that had been a vibrant red moments ago were nearly gone, just a hint of silver peeking out from my skin. 

Paul’s curious gaze wasn’t gross, somehow. He wasn’t leering at me, just observing for a moment before he turned away and led the way to my house. As he said, he nimbly climbed up into the tree beside my window, and silently slipped inside. He tossed down a pair of jeans and a grey shirt, close enough to what I was wearing that Charlie wouldn’t notice. No underwear, I grimaced, tugging the clothes on quickly. As Paul turned away, I panicked. 

“Wait!” I called out, almost too loud. “You’ll explain everything to me tomorrow?” I asked, voice shaking a bit. He turned back to me with a soft look in his eyes, no doubt remembering when this must’ve happened to him. 

“Yeah, tomorrow. Charlie knows where Billy’s house is. Billy should call in the morning, to give him a little time to call into work if need be. Your fever can be an excuse to stay home so he doesn't rush you off to school. See ya tomorrow.” He said, before bounding off into the forest. I heard his footsteps for ten minutes, before they faded. Then, I returned inside. 

I quietly told Charlie about my fever and he winced when he felt my forehead, though the discomfort from the ‘fever’ was gone. I bid him goodnight, and headed upstairs. I did not sleep. I laid down in my bed and stared at the ceiling, running the events of today through my mind. Trying to make sense of it all. And failing.

I startled when the phone rang, nearly destroying my eardrums. I clapped both hands over my ears, tears springing in my eyes. I could still hear when Charlie answered the phone. 

“Chief Swan.” A pause. With my hands over my ears I couldn’t hear Billy. 

“Billy? Now? Why?” This pause was longer. It was three full minutes until Charlie spoke again. 

“Okay, yeah, we’ll be down there soon. You’re lucky it’s my day off, old man.” The playful insults let me know that it went smoothly. Reassured and terrified, I got up to get dressed. I stepped into a pair of jeans and pulled on a black t-shirt and was done. It wasn’t cold, so I passed on the jacket. I was just tying my shoes when Charlie knocked on the door. 

“Hey kid,” He said, peeking his head through the door. “Billy called, we’re heading over there when you’re ready. He said you’d know what you mean.” He was obviously confused and slightly cautious. I flashed him a smile and nodded. He let out a breath and retreated back downstairs.

The drive to La Push was quiet. Tension filled the air between us. He was worried. Billy had told him something happened to me that only he could explain. Charlie was worried. It strangely made my chest feel warm, and fondness fill my body. Charlie was a good dad. He always had been. 

When we arrived at Billy’s house, I recognized it vaguely. Blurry memories surfaced of three childhood friends, two girls slightly older than me, and one boy younger. I remember making mud pies on the beach with them. Wiping my mind of memories, I set my shoulders in preparation of what was to come next. We both stepped out of the car. 

“Are you gonna eat that hot dog?” Paul asked me, later, his eyes locked on the last remnant of the huge meal the werewolves had consumed.

I leaned back against the driftwood seat and toyed with the hot dog I had spitted on a straightened wire hanger; the flames at the edge of the bonfire licked along its blistered skin. I heaved a sigh and patted my stomach. It was somehow still flat, though I’d lost count of how many hot dogs I’d eaten after my tenth. Not to mention the super-sized bag of chips or the two-liter bottle of root beer.

“I guess,” I said slowly. “I’m so full I’m about to puke, but I think I can force it down. I won’t enjoy it at all, though.” I sighed again sadly. Sam coughed into his fist, smothering his laugh. 

Despite the fact that Paul had eaten at least as much as me, he glowered and his hands balled up into fists.

“Sheesh.” I laughed. “Kidding, Paul. Here.”

I flipped the homemade skewer across the circle. I expected it to land hot-dog-first in the sand, but Paul caught it neatly on the right end without difficulty. It was still new, this agility. 

“Thanks, man,” Paul said, already over his brief fit of temper.

The fire crackled, settling lower toward the sand. Sparks blew up in a sudden puff of brilliant orange against the black sky. Funny, I hadn’t noticed that the sun had set. For the first time, I wondered how late it had gotten. I’d lost track of time completely.

Charlie was still slightly pale, sitting next to Billy. He had thought he was being pranked. Until Paul was there, and Paul shifted in front of him. He had promptly passed, giving me the impression that he had a heart attack. I would still be freaking out if I hadn’t heard his heart still healthily beating. He had woken up moments later. Now, he was here..

I was terrified of being an outsider. Of ruining the mood of what I assumed was a party. But when I arrived with Charlie, walking out of the forest to the clifftop meeting place — where the fire already roared brighter than the cloud-obscured sun — it had all been very casual and light.

“Hey, white wolf!!” Jared had greeted me loudly. Paul had jumped up to give me a high five. Emily, who was Sam’s fiance, had squeezed my hand when we’d sat on the cool stone ground beside her and Sam. Her red scars had set me in my place, on how this could actually be dangerous. I was treated like someone who belonged.

It wasn’t just the wolves in attendance, either. Billy was here, his wheelchair stationed at what seemed the natural head of the circle. Beside him on a folding lawn chair, looking quite brittle, was an ancient, white-haired man, Old Quil. Harry Clearwater, Charlie’s friend, had a chair on his other side. 

The whole pack was there: Sam with his Emily, Paul, and Jared.

“It’s getting late,” I murmured to Paul.

“Don’t start that yet,” Paul whispered back — though certainly half the group here had hearing sensitive enough to hear us anyway. “The best part is coming.”

“What’s the best part? Us swallowing an entire cow whole?”

Paul chuckled his low, throaty laugh. “No. That’s the finale. We didn’t meet just to eat through a week’s worth of food. This is technically a council meeting. It’s your first time, and you haven’t heard the stories yet. “

“Stories?”

Paul scooted back beside me, where I rested against a low ridge of rock. 

“The histories we always thought were legends,” he said. “The stories of how we came to be. The first is the story of the spirit warriors.”

It was almost as if Paul’s soft whisper was the introduction. The atmosphere changed abruptly around the low-burning fire. Paul and Jared sat up straighter. Emily produced a spiral-bound notebook and a pen, looking exactly like a student set for an important lecture. Sam twisted just slightly beside her — so that he was facing the same direction as Old Quil, who was on his other side — and suddenly I realized that the elders of the council here were not three, but four in number.

The fire crackled, sending another explosion of sparks glittering up against the night.

Billy cleared his throat, and, with no more introduction than his son’s whisper, began telling the story in his rich, deep voice. The words poured out with precision, as if he knew them by heart, but also with feeling and a subtle rhythm. Like poetry performed by its author.

“The Quileutes have been a small people from the beginning,” Billy said. “And we are a small people still, but we have never disappeared. This is because there has always been magic in our blood. It wasn’t always the magic of shape-shifting — that came later. First, we were spirit warriors.”

Never before had I recognized the ring of majesty that was in Billy Black’s voice, though I realized now that this authority had always been there. Emily’s pen sprinted across the sheets of paper as she tried to keep up with him.

“In the beginning, the tribe settled in this harbor and became skilled ship builders and fishermen. But the tribe was small, and the harbor was rich in fish. There were others who coveted our land, and we were too small to hold it. A larger tribe moved against us, and we took to our ships to escape them.

“Kaheleha was not the first spirit warrior, but we do not remember the stories that came before his. We do not remember who was the first to discover this power, or how it had been used before this crisis. Kahelehawas the first great Spirit Chief in our history. In this emergency, Kaheleha used the magic to defend our land.

“He and all his warriors left the ship — not their bodies, but their spirits. Their women watched over the bodies and the waves, and the men took their spirits back to our harbor.

“They could not physically touch the enemy tribe, but they had other ways. The stories tell us that they could blow fierce winds into their enemy’s camps; they could make a great screaming in the wind that terrified their foes. The stories also tell us that the animals could see the spirit warriors and understand them; the animals would do their bidding.

“Kaheleha took his spirit army and wreaked havoc on the intruders. This invading tribe had packs of big, thick-furred dogs that they used to pull their sleds in the frozen north. The spirit warriors turned the dogs against their masters and then brought a mighty infestation of bats up from the cliff caverns. They used the screaming wind to aid the dogs in confusing the men. The dogs and bats won. The survivors scattered, calling our harbor a cursed place. The dogs ran wild when the spirit warriors released them. The Quileutes returned to their bodies and their wives, victorious.

“The other nearby tribes, the Hohs and the Makahs, made treaties with the Quileutes. They wanted nothing to do with our magic. We lived in peace with them. When an enemy came against us, the spirit warriors would drive them off.

“Generations passed. Then came the last great Spirit Chief, Taha Aki. He was known for his wisdom, and for being a man of peace. The people lived well and content in his care.

“But there was one man, Utlapa, who was not content.”

A low hiss ran around the fire. I was too slow to see where it came from. Billy ignored it and went on with the legend.

“Utlapa was one of Chief Taha Aki’s strongest spirit warriors — a powerful man, but a grasping man, too. He thought the people should use their magic to expand their lands, to enslave the Hohs and the Makahs and build an empire.

“Now, when the warriors were their spirit selves, they knew each other’s thoughts. Taha Aki saw what Utlapa dreamed, and was angry with Utlapa. Utlapa was commanded to leave the people, and never use his spirit self again. Utlapa was a strong man, but the chief’s warriors outnumbered him. He had no choice but to leave. The furious outcast hid in the forest nearby, waiting for a chance to get revenge against the chief.

“Even in times of peace, the Spirit Chief was vigilant in protecting his people. Often, he would go to a sacred, secret place in the mountains. He would leave his body behind and sweep down through the forests and along the coast, making sure no threat approached.

“One day when Taha Aki left to perform this duty, Utlapa followed. At first, Utlapa simply planned to kill the chief, but this plan had its drawbacks. Surely the spirit warriors would seek to destroy him, and they could follow faster than he could escape. As he hid in the rocks and watched the chief prepare to leave his body, another plan occurred to him.

“Taha Aki left his body in the secret place and flew with the winds to keep watch over his people. Utlapa waited until he was sure the chief had traveled some distance with his spirit self.

“Taha Aki knew it the instant that Utlapa had joined him in the spirit world, and he also knew Utlapa’s murderous plan. He raced back to his secret place, but even the winds weren’t fast enough to save him. When he returned, his body was already gone. Utlapa’s body lay abandoned, but Utlapa had not left Taha Aki with an escape — he had cut his own body’s throat with Taha Aki’s hands.

“Taha Aki followed his body down the mountain. He screamed at Utlapa, but Utlapa ignored him as if he were mere wind.

“Taha Aki watched with despair as Utlapa took his place as chief of the Quileutes. For a few weeks, Utlapa did nothing but make sure that everyone believed he was Taha Aki. Then the changes began — Utlapa’s first edict was to forbid any warrior to enter the spirit world. He claimed that he’d had a vision of danger, but really he was afraid. He knew that Taha Aki would be waiting for the chance to tell his story. Utlapa was also afraid to enter the spirit world himself, knowing Taha Aki would quickly claim his body. So his dreams of conquest with a spirit warrior army were impossible, and he sought to content himself with ruling over the tribe. He became a burden — seeking privileges that Taha Aki had never requested, refusing to work alongside his warriors, taking a young second wife and then a third, though Taha Aki’s wife lived on — something unheard of in the tribe. Taha Aki watched in helpless fury.

“Eventually, Taha Aki tried to kill his body to save the tribe from Utlapa’s excesses. He brought a fierce wolf down from the mountains, but Utlapa hid behind his warriors. When the wolf killed a young man who was protecting the false chief, Taha Aki felt horrible grief. He ordered the wolf away.

“All the stories tell us that it was no easy thing to be a spirit warrior. It was more frightening than exhilarating to be freed from one’s body. This is why they only used their magic in times of need. The chief’s solitary journeys to keep watch were a burden and a sacrifice. Being bodiless was disorienting, uncomfortable, horrifying. Taha Aki had been away from his body for so long at this point that he was in agony. He felt he was doomed — never to cross over to the final land where his ancestors waited, stuck in this torturous nothingness forever.

“The great wolf followed Taha Aki’s spirit as he twisted and writhed in agony through the woods. The wolf was very large for its kind, and beautiful. Taha Aki was suddenly jealous of the dumb animal. At least it had a body. At least it had a life. Even life as an animal would be better than this horrible empty consciousness.

“And then Taha Aki had the idea that changed us all. He asked the great wolf to make room for him, to share. The wolf complied. Taka Aki entered the wolf’s body with relief and gratitude. It was not his human body, but it was better than the void of the spirit world.

“As one, the man and the wolf returned to the village on the harbor. The people ran in fear, shouting for the warriors to come. The warriors ran to meet the wolf with their spears. Utlapa, of course, stayed safely hidden.

“Taha Aki did not attack his warriors. He retreated slowly from them, speaking with his eyes and trying to yelp the songs of his people. The warriors began to realize that the wolf was no ordinary animal, that there was a spirit influencing it. One older warrior, a man name Yut, decided to disobey the false chief’s order and try to communicate with the wolf.

“As soon as Yut crossed to the spirit world, Taha Aki left the wolf — the animal waited tamely for his return — to speak to him. Yut gathered the truth in an instant, and welcomed his true chief home.

“At this time, Utlapa came to see if the wolf had been defeated. When he saw Yut lying lifeless on the ground, surrounded by protective warriors, he realized what was happening. He drew his knife and raced forward to kill Yut before he could return to his body.

“‘Traitor,’ he screamed, and the warriors did not know what to do. The chief had forbidden spirit journeys, and it was the chief’s decision how to punish those who disobeyed.

“Yut jumped back into his body, but Utlapa had his knife at his throat and a hand covering his mouth. Taha Aki’s body was strong, and Yut was weak with age. Yut could not say even one word to warn the others before Utlapa silenced him forever.

“Taha Aki watched as Yut’s spirit slipped away to the final lands that were barred to Taha Aki for all eternity. He felt a great rage, more powerful than anything he’d felt before. He entered the big wolf again, meaning to rip Utlapa’s throat out. But, as he joined the wolf, the greatest magic happened.

“Taha Aki’s anger was the anger of a man. The love he had for his people and the hatred he had for their oppressor were too vast for the wolf’s body, too human. The wolf shuddered, and — before the eyes of the shocked warriors and Utlapa — transformed into a man.

“The new man did not look like Taha Aki’s body. He was far more glorious. He was the flesh interpretation of Taha Aki’s spirit. The warriors recognized him at once, though, for they had flown with Taha Aki’s spirit.

“Utlapa tried to run, but Taha Aki had the strength of the wolf in his new body. He caught the thief and crushed the spirit from him before he could jump out of the stolen body.

“The people rejoiced when they understood what had happened. Taha Aki quickly set everything right, working again with his people and giving the young wives back to their families. The only change he kept in place was the end of the spirit travels. He knew that it was too dangerous now that the idea of stealing a life was there. The spirit warriors were no more.

“From that point on, Taha Aki was more than either wolf or man. They called him Taha Aki the Great Wolf, or Taha Aki the Spirit Man. He led the tribe for many, many years, for he did not age. When danger threatened, he would resume his wolf-self to fight or frighten the enemy. The people dwelt in peace. Taha Aki fathered many sons, and some of these found that, after they had reached the age of manhood, they, too, could transform into wolves. The wolves were all different, because they were spirit wolves and reflected the man they were inside.”

“So that’s why Sam is all black,” Paul muttered under his breath, grinning. “Black heart, black fur.”

I was so involved in the story, it was a shock to come back to the present, to the circle around the dying fire. With another shock, I realized that the circle was made up of Taha Aki’s great — to however many degrees — grandsons.

The fire threw a volley of sparks into the sky, and they shivered and danced, making shapes that were almost decipherable.

“And your grey fur reflects what?” Sam whispered back to Quil. “How boring you are?”

Billy ignored their jibes. “Some of the sons became warriors with Taha Aki, and they no longer aged. Others, who did not like the transformation, refused to join the pack of wolf-men. These began to age again, and the tribe discovered that the wolf-men could grow old like anyone else if they gave up their spirit wolves. Taha Aki had lived the span of three old men’s lives. He had married a third wife after the deaths of the first two, and found in her his true spirit wife. Though he had loved the others, this was something else. He decided to give up his spirit wolf so that he would die when she did.

“That is how the magic came to us, but it is not the end of the story. . . .”

He looked at Old Quil Ateara, who shifted in his chair, straightening his frail shoulders. Billy took a drink from a bottle of water and wiped his forehead. Emily’s pen never hesitated as she scribbled furiously on the paper.

“That was the story of the spirit warriors,” Old Quil began in a thin tenor voice. “This is the story of the third wife’s sacrifice.

“Many years after Taha Aki gave up his spirit wolf, when he was an old man, trouble began in the north, with the Makahs. Several young women of their tribe had disappeared, and they blamed it on the neighboring wolves, who they feared and mistrusted. The wolf-men could still read each other’s thoughts while in their wolf forms, just like their ancestors had while in their spirit forms. They knew that none of their number was to blame. Taha Aki tried to pacify the Makah chief, but there was too much fear. Taha Aki did not want to have a war on his hands. He was no longer a warrior to lead his people. He charged his oldest wolf-son, Taha Wi, with finding the true culprit before hostilities began.

“Taha Wi led the five other wolves in his pack on a search through the mountains, looking for any evidence of the missing Makahs. They came across something they had never encountered before — a strange, sweet scent in the forest that burned their noses to the point of pain.”

“They did not know what creature would leave such a scent, but they followed it,” Old Quil continued.

His quavering voice did not have the majesty of Billy’s, but it had a strange, fierce edge of urgency about it. My pulse jumped as his words came faster.

“They found faint traces of human scent, and human blood, along the trail. They were sure this was the enemy they were searching for.

“The journey took them so far north that Taha Wi sent half the pack, the younger ones, back to the harbor to report to Taha Aki. Taha Wi and his two brothers did not return.”

“The younger brothers searched for their elders, but found only silence. Taha Aki mourned for his sons. He wished to avenge his sons’ death, but he was old. He went to the Makah chief in his mourning clothes and told him everything that had happened. The Makah chief believed his grief, and tensions ended between the tribes.

“A year later, two Makah maidens disappeared from their homes on the same night. The Makahs called on the Quileute wolves at once, who found the same sweet stink all through the Makah village. The wolves went on the hunt again.

“Only one came back. He was Yaha Uta, the oldest son of Taka Aki’s third wife, and the youngest in the pack. He brought something with him that had never been seen in all the days of the Quileutes — a strange, cold, stony corpse that he carried in pieces. All who were of Taha Aki’s blood, even those who had never been wolves, could smell the piercing smell of the dead creature. This was the enemy of the Makahs.

“Yaha Uta described what had happened: he and his brothers had found the creature, who looked like a man but was hard as a granite rock, with the two Makah daughters. One girl was already dead, white and bloodless on the ground. The other was in the creature’s arms, his mouth at her throat. She may have been alive when they came upon the hideous scene, but the creature quickly snapped her neck and tossed her lifeless body to the ground when they approached. His white lips were covered in her blood, and his eyes glowed red.

“Yaha Uta described the fierce strength and speed of the creature. One of his brothers quickly became a victim when he underestimated that strength. The creature ripped him apart like a doll. Yaha Uta and his other brother were more wary. They worked together, coming at the creature from the sides, outmaneuvering it. They had to reach the very limits of their wolf strength and speed, something that had never been tested before. The creature was hard as stone and cold as ice. They found that only their teeth could damage it. They began to rip small pieces of the creature apart while it fought them.

“But the creature learned quickly, and soon was matching their maneuvers. It got its hands on Yaha Uta’s brother. Yaha Uta found an opening on the creature’s throat, and he lunged. His teeth tore the head off the creature, but the hands continued to mangle his brother.

“Yaha Uta ripped the creature into unrecognizable chunks, tearing pieces apart in a desperate attempt to save his brother. He was too late, but, in the end, the creature was destroyed.

“Or so they thought. Yaha Uta laid the reeking remains out to be examined by the elders. One severed hand lay beside a piece of the creature’s granite arm. The two pieces touched when the elders poked them with sticks, and the hand reached out towards the arm piece, trying to reassemble itself.

“Horrified, the elders set fire to the remains. A great cloud of choking, vile smoke polluted the air. When there was nothing but ashes, they separated the ashes into many small bags and spread them far and wide — some in the ocean, some in the forest, some in the cliff caverns. Taha Aki wore one bag around his neck, so he would be warned if the creature ever tried to put himself together again.”

Old Quil paused and looked at Billy. Billy pulled out a leather thong from around his neck. Hanging from the end was a small bag, blackened with age. A few people gasped. I might have been one of them.

“They called it The Cold One, the Blood Drinker, and lived in fear that it was not alone. They only had one wolf protector left, young Yaha Uta.” Goosebumps prickled my skin as dread made my heart sink. Cold ones.

“They did not have long to wait. The creature had a mate, another blood drinker, who came to the Quileutes seeking revenge.

“The stories say that the Cold Woman was the most beautiful thing human eyes had ever seen. She looked like the goddess of the dawn when she entered the village that morning; the sun was shining for once, and it glittered off her white skin and lit the golden hair that flowed down to her knees. Her face was magical in its beauty, her eyes black in her white face. Some fell to their knees to worship her.

“She asked something in a high, piercing voice, in a language no one had ever heard. The people were dumbfounded, not knowing how to answer her. There was none of Taha Aki’s blood among the witnesses but one small boy. He clung to his mother and screamed that the smell was hurting his nose. One of the elders, on his way to council, heard the boy and realized what had come among them. He yelled for the people to run. She killed him first.

“There were twenty witnesses to the Cold Woman’s approach. Two survived, only because she grew distracted by the blood, and paused to sate her thirst. They ran to Taha Aki, who sat in counsel with the other elders, his sons, and his third wife.

“Yaha Uta transformed into his spirit wolf as soon as he heard the news. He went to destroy the blood drinker alone. Taha Aki, his third wife, his sons, and his elders followed behind him.

“At first they could not find the creature, only the evidence of her attack. Bodies lay broken, a few drained of blood, strewn across the road where she’d appeared. Then they heard the screams and hurried to the harbor.

“A handful of the Quileutes had run to the ships for refuge. She swam after them like a shark, and broke the bow of their boat with her incredible strength. When the ship sank, she caught those trying to swim away and broke them, too.

“She saw the great wolf on the shore, and she forgot the fleeing swimmers. She swam so fast she was a blur and came, dripping and glorious, to stand before Yaha Uta. She pointed at him with one white finger and asked another incomprehensible question. Yaha Uta waited.

“It was a close fight. She was not the warrior her mate had been. But Yaha Uta was alone — there was no one to distract her fury from him.

“When Yaha Uta lost, Taha Aki screamed in defiance. He limped forward and shifted into an ancient, white-muzzled wolf. The wolf was old, but this was Taha Aki the Spirit Man, and his rage made him strong. The fight began again.

“Taha Aki’s third wife had just seen her son die before her. Now her husband fought, and she had no hope that he could win. She’d heard every word the witnesses to the slaughter had told the council. She’d heard the story of Yaha Uta’s first victory, and knew that his brother’s diversion had saved him.

“The third wife grabbed a knife from the belt of one of the sons who stood beside her. They were all young sons, not yet men, and she knew they would die when their father failed.

“The third wife ran toward the Cold Woman with the dagger raised high. The Cold Woman smiled, barely distracted from her fight with the old wolf. She had no fear of the weak human woman or the knife that would not even scratch her skin, and she was about to deliver the death blow to Taha Aki.

“And then the third wife did something the Cold Woman did not expect. She fell to her knees at the blood drinker’s feet and plunged the knife into her own heart.

“Blood spurted through the third wife’s fingers and splashed against the Cold Woman. The blood drinker could not resist the lure of the fresh blood leaving the third wife’s body. Instinctively, she turned to the dying woman, for one second entirely consumed by thirst.

“Taha Aki’s teeth closed around her neck.”

“That was not the end of the fight, but Taha Aki was not alone now. Watching their mother die, two young sons felt such rage that they sprang forth as their spirit wolves, though they were not yet men. With their father, they finished the creature.

“Taha Aki never rejoined the tribe. He never changed back to a man again. He lay for one day beside the body of the third wife, growling whenever anyone tried to touch her, and then he went into the forest and never returned.

“Trouble with the cold ones was rare from that time on. Taha Aki’s sons guarded the tribe until their sons were old enough to take their places. There were never more than three wolves at a time. It was enough. Occasionally a blood drinker would come through these lands, but they were taken by surprise, not expecting the wolves. Sometimes a wolf would die, but never were they decimated again like that first time. They’d learned how to fight the cold ones, and they passed the knowledge on, wolf mind to wolf mind, spirit to spirit, father to son.

“Time passed, and the descendants of Taha Aki no longer became wolves when they reached manhood. Only in a great while, if a cold one was near, would the wolves return. The cold ones always came in ones and twos, and the pack stayed small.

“A bigger coven came, and your own great-grandfathers prepared to fight them off. But the leader spoke to Ephraim Black as if he were a man, and promised not to harm the Quileutes. His strange yellow eyes gave some proof to his claim that they were not the same as other blood drinkers. The wolves were outnumbered; there was no need for the cold ones to offer a treaty when they could have won the fight. Ephraim accepted. They’ve stayed true to their side, though their presence does tend to draw in others.

“And their numbers have forced a larger pack than the tribe has ever seen,” Old Quil said, and for one moment his black eyes, all but buried in the wrinkles of skin folded around them, seemed to rest on me. Horror rose within me. I knew the others could hear my frantic heart beat. 

“Except, of course, in Taha Aki’s time,” he said, and then he sighed. “And so the sons of our tribe again carry the burden and share the sacrifice their fathers endured before them.”

All was silent for a long moment. The living descendants of magic and legend stared at one another across the fire with sadness in their eyes. 

“Edward?” I asked, my voice just a whisper, eyes wide in understanding. Billy looked at me then, curious. The magic seemed to fade into the glowing embers. Suddenly, it was just a circle of friends again. when I looked back a moment later it was gone.

“Ah right, you go to school with them. What’s that like?” Paul asked, nudging my shoulder with his.

“I…” I shook my head, clearing my throat. “Edward Cullen saved my life.” I murmered, staring into the flames. Silence sat heavy until Paul nudged me again. I sighed. 

“Yesterday, the day I shifted. Before school started, a van spun out of control on the ice. It would have crushed me, but Edward, who was on the other side of the parking lot, was suddenly there, he stopped the van with his bare hands.” It all made sense now. I looked up, then, seeing Charlie’s face pale even further. 

“I was angry because he wouldn’t tell me how. He lied about it, said I hit my head too hard. His father, the doctor, was in on it. It all makes sense now.” My voice trailed off. I suddenly laughed, snorting slightly. 

“That’s why his siblings were so mad!” Paul snorted as well, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, you have a choice Beau. Continue going to Forks High alone, without the pack. Or transfer to the rez. I won’t force you, either way.” Sam said, watching me. I debated for a minute. 

“I hate being a new student. I think I’ll just stay at Forks. It’s only the rest of this school year and next school year. I think I can manage.” I said, even though my main reason was wanting to see Edward again. I knew Sam could see that, but he allowed it, nodding his head. 

“You’ll stay home for the rest of the week though. Charlie can say you’re sick. You need time to adjust, so you won’t lose control over someone sassing you.” I could feel the command in his voice, and it nestled in my bones. Charlie nodded along with me. 

“Okay, I think we should get home, huh Dad? It’s getting late.” I said gently, standing up and walking towards him, holding my hand out to help him up from the sand. He nodded silently, and accepted the help. Before we left, he turned to Billy, a new understanding in his eyes.

“I’ll forgive the prejudice against the Cullen’s. But that doesn’t mean I’ll give into it too.” Billy smiled, and Charlie shook his hand, and we climbed into his car, and drove off.

“C’mon, Beau,” Charlie said in my ear. “We’re here.”

I blinked, confused because the road seemed to have disappeared. I glared into the unexpected darkness, trying to make sense of my surroundings. It took me a minute to realize that I was no longer being driven.

“Thanks Dad,” I said, cracking the car door open. 

That night — after I’d bidden Charlie goodnight — instead of collapsing in bed right away, I leaned out the open window and I watched the forest, alive in the dark. The night was surprisingly cold, almost wintry. I hadn’t noticed it at all on the windy cliffs; but I wasn’t cold. Icy droplets spattered against my face as the rain began to fall.

I don’t know what I was looking for, but I strained my eyes anyway, searching for other shapes in the storm. A pale silhouette, moving like a ghost through the black . . . or maybe the shadowy outline of an enormous wolf. . . . 


	5. Chapter 5

I spent the next week practicing shifting. Mostly in my backyard, but sometimes in the woods with my pack. I shredded at least five pairs of pants, and a couple t-shirts. Charlie bought some more for me, a couple more durable pairs. The first time I showed him the shredded denim he snorted, nearly choking on his coffee at the dejected expression on my face. 

There was also a new hole in my wall, that I did not tell Charlie about. I covered it with a painting, guilt eating at me. After that incident, I spent most of my time outside. Which allowed me to catch the lingering scent of something sweet. It smelt almost like fresh snow and honey. I spent an hour just trying to place it, inhaling it deep into my lungs. 

But when Paul showed up one day to help train me, he froze. His muscles quivered as his lips twisted in a snarl. Ignoring my questions, he stalked to my backyard, scenting the air. 

“A blood sucker was here.” He grunted finally, after a stretch of silence. My heart stuttered and I tried to wipe Edward from my mind. 

“Really? Is that what that amazing smell is?” I asked, scenting the now almost gone smell of honey and snow. Paul balked, his expression one of disbelief as he whirled around to look at me. 

“It doesn’t hurt your nose?” He asked, tremors gone. 

“No..? Should it?” I asked, equally as confused. Then I remembered some of the legends. Huh. Weird. I shrugged, toeing my shoes off and planting my bare feet in the grass. I was only wearing a pair of gym shorts, just in case I lost my temper and shifted. That’s what Paul was here for. 

Paul got the hint and dropped it, though I knew he would inform Sam when he left or shifted himself. That afternoon and the following ones were spent with Paul trying to get me to shift. The first time he insulted me, over my clothes, I had exploded into a ball of angry white fur, nearly taking a bite out of him. But eventually I was able to control my anger. A lot easier than Paul was able to, much to his displeasure. 

The sunday before I was to go back to school, I went on my first patrol. Sam joined me, to explain where the treaty line was. He told me I would know by scent. And once we got there, boy I sure did. 

Whimpering in surprise, I pawed at my nose. It was like smelling bleach, yet it was also surgery sweet. But mixed in there was the fresh snow scent, almost hidden behind the harshness of the other scents. Sam eyed me, but didn’t comment. 

I had gotten home at midnight, eaten three portions of the cold dinner Charlie had left me, and promptly passed out. Charlie had shaken me awake once the sun rose the next morning. I thanked him, and he left for work after wishing me good luck. 

Weary and filled with dread, I dressed slowly. I slid on a pair of worn down jeans, just in case I had to shift, and a t-shirt. Disgruntled, I grabbed a jacket to keep up appearances, and made my way downstairs. Now almost late, I scarfed down half the pantry before hopping into my truck and speeding to school. 

The school was saturated in their scent, over powering the human’s smell, even. Luckily, by almost being late, the parking lot was nearly empty. Keeping my head down, I headed to my first class. 

Throughout the day, people made comments about my health, happy that I was better. I blushed just as easily as I had before the shift, so my face was always some shade of pink, much to my friends amusement. I avoided the Cullen’s. 

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. McKayla was disappointed she'd never gotten to stage her snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. 

Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she whispered to me a couple periods before lunch, to ask my permission to invite McKayla to the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks.

"Are you sure you don't mind… you weren't planning on her asking you?" she persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Jess, I'm not going," I assured her. I couldn’t even imagine going to a dance with my heightened senses.

"It will be really fun." Her attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I suspected that Jessica enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual company.

"You have fun with McKayla," I encouraged.

On the way to lunch, I was surprised that Jessica wasn't her usual gushing self. She was silent as she walked by my side, and I was afraid to ask her why. If McKayla had turned her down, I was the last person she would want to tell.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from McKayla as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. McKayla was unusually quiet.

I ignored the Cullen table, aware of the eyes on me. 

McKayla was still quiet as she walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on her face a bad sign. But she didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and she was perched on my desk. I was electrically aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch, his scent permeating the air.

"So," McKayla said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."

"Well…" She floundered as she examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved she hadn't given her an absolute no.

Her face was bright red as she looked down again. Pity shook my resolve.

"I was wondering if… well, if you might want to go with me."

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Edward's head tilt in my direction.

"McKayla, I think you should tell her yes," I said.

"Did someone already ask you?" Did Edward notice how McKayla’s eyes flickered in his direction?

"No," I assured her. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" McKayla demanded.

I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented to other people, and that I was probably going to be patrolling anyway. So I made up new plans.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. 

"Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer — it's rude."

"Yeah, you're right," she mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to her seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes. When my eyes met his, something changed. 

Heat flooded through me, stronger than before, but it was a new kind of heat—not a burning. It was a glowing.

Everything inside me came undone as I stared at the porcelain face of the vampire. All the lines that held me to my life were sliced apart in swift cuts, like clipping the strings to a bunch of balloons. Everything that made me who I was—my love for my father, my loyalty to my new pack, the love for my other brothers, my hatred for my enemies, my home, my name, my self—disconnected from me in that second—snip, snip, snip—and floated up into space.

I was not left drifting. A new string held me where I was.

Not one string, but a million. Not strings, but steel cables. A million steel cables all tying me to one thing—to the very center of the universe.

I could see that now—how the universe swirled around this one point. I’d never seen the symmetry of the universe before, but now it was plain.

The gravity of the earth no longer tied me to the place where I stood.

It was Edward.

I stared back, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. Could he see what had just happened? Did he feel it too? There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.

"Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner. I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find my place. I couldn’t understand what had happened.

I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me — just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in a week. I couldn't allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.

"Beau?" His voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to him; his expression was unreadable.

“Are you okay?” His words were hesitant. He knew what I was now. I tried to find the words. 

“I think so.” I answered, voice surprisingly steady. 

"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere. "That I was very rude, before. I know. But I thought it was better that way."

“I understand.” I said, giving him a small sincere smile. I inhaled, and the full force of fresh snow hit me, nearly disorienting me. My eyes widened. 

“Why were you by my house?” I questioned, knowing he saw me scenting the air. He looked almost sheepish.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” My heart stuttered a beat, both of us hearing it. I didn’t know what else to say. 

“I’ll see you later?” Edward asked, uncertain. Of course. I was supposed to hate him. That’s why he was acting like this. I gave him a smile and nodded.

I straightened up, turned away from him again, and walked off to Gym without looking back. Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fought to rein in my strength. 

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if I'd had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Tyler's parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Eric. I started walking again.

"Hey, Eric," I called.

"Hi, Beau."

"What's up?" I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?" His voice broke on the last word.

"I thought it was girls' choice," I said, too startled to be diplomatic.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. “But neither of us are girls.”

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

"Oh," he said. "Well, maybe next time."

"Sure," I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that too literally.

He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle.

Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together. I rolled my eyes, now amused as well. I opened the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle.

Edward was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there — to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form.

Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge him.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Tyler. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused.

His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

"I'm sorry, Tyler, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I was annoyed — obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh, I know — I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." He grinned.

This could not be happening.

"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" he continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler." My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn't his fault that Mike and Eric had already used up my quota of patience for the day.

"Yeah, McKayla said that," he admitted.

"Then why —"

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy." Because I was gay. The unspoken sentence irked me.

Okay, it was completely his fault.

"Sorry, Tyler," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

And before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror, Edward's eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as he'd heard every word Tyler had said. My foot itched toward the gas pedal… one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way, tremors shaking my body.

When I got home, I jogged to the backyard and exploded, destroying another set of clothes in the process. I could feel Paul there, and his shock flowed into my mind when he saw what had happened in biology. 

_ You imprinted on a leech?  _ He asked, and Sam now paid attention. So I ran through the events of the day in my mind. I couldn’t really focus on anything other than Edward. I imprinted on him. From what I’d gathered about imprinted, it was only on humans.

_ We’ll deal with it later, at a pack meeting. I’ll let Billy know. It’s okay, Beau.  _ Sam tried to reassure me as he raced off to Billy’s house, saying nothing more. Paul was still seething when I shifted back, heading inside quickly for some clothes.

I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.

It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; McKayla had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Angela and Lauren to tell them. I suggested — with casual innocence — that maybe Angela, the shy girl who had Biology with me, could ask Eric. And Lauren, a standoffish girl who had always ignored me at the lunch table, could ask Tyler; I'd heard he was still available. Jess thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of McKayla , she actually sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner — dicing the chicken especially; I didn't want to test out the rapid healing just yet. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edward had spoken today. 

The imprint floated through my mind. But of course he wasn't going to be interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging — a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn't interesting. And he was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect…and beautiful… and able to lift full-sized vans with one hand. A beautiful vampire.

Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn't blame him —the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.

“Hey Beau?” Dad asked me, in the middle of the meal.

“Yeah?”

"Are you going to the dance?"

Grrr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

"No — I don't dance, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that — I didn't get my balance problems from my mother.

He did understand. "Oh, that's right," he realized. We didn’t speak about my werewolf situation.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.

“Thanks.” My heart was going in overdrive.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was quiet as usual — velvet, muted.

I looked at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. That means he had fed recently, I thought, thinking back on what Sam had told me about them.Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

"Why the traffic jam last night?" I demanded, still looking away. 

"That was for Tyler's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." He snickered.

"You…" I gasped. I couldn't think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused. Until my hands started shaking. I closed my eyes, taking in a few lungfuls of his delicious scent, before the shaking stopped, He now looked worried. I waved it off. 

But my palms still tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person. I guess that’s changed. I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," he said as we walked. I ignored him. 

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled, even though that was the last thing I wanted.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.

"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" I asked severely.

"You're doing it again."

I sighed. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday — you know, the day of the spring dance —"

"Are you trying to be funny?" I interrupted him, wheeling toward him. His eyes were wickedly amused. 

"Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn't do anything rash.

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"With who?" I asked, mystified.

"Myself, obviously." He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped.

I was still stunned. "Why?"

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" He matched my pace again.

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Edward." I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I hated it. “I’m not going to Seattle. I’ll probably be patrolling with Sam.” Finally, I said something to confirm my new status as a werewolf.

I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at his face. Which certainly didn't help my clarity of thought.

“It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend," he said suddenly, after a small silence.. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe. He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.

"You really should stay away from me," he warned. "I'll see you in class."

He turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.


	6. Chapter 6

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Mister Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized McKayla wasn't sitting in her usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But she and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven.

McKayla seemed to become more herself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as she talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe her beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing her yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans — Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together — completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.

"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.

"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," I muttered for her benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what he wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" he asked, smiling.

I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up, a normal human.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"This is different," I finally managed.

"Well…" He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "There’s no need to hide anything anymore."

Then he changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back.

"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

I gulped.

He laughed. "You look worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"

"I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.

"Yes — giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

"You lost me."

The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — good thing that it’s not a problem anymore."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?" Even though the word friends tore at my heart.

"Friends…" he mused, dubious.

"Or not," I muttered.

He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you."

Behind his smile, the warning was real. I just scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“In that regard then I’m not a good friend for you either.” I flashed a smile full of teeth back. He laughed in surprise, eyes lighting up.

"I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"I think it’s the other way around, really." My eyes narrowed. I could take care of myself.

He smiled apologetically.

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you think of me." Then I cringed.

His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.

"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.

"Not too much," I admitted.

He chuckled. "Why do you care?" Genuine curiosity 

I blushed. I’d imprinted on him. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"

He grimaced, likely thinking about the hospital conversation as well.

"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" I laughed, a bit too loudly, thinking of my temper. He grinned back.

He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.

"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. "You?" I automatically asked back, then snorted at my own unintentional joke.

"No, I'm not hungry.” Rolling his own eyes at me. 

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I assured him.

He waited, guarded but curious.

"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

"Thanks."

"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.

"One."

"Tell me why you care what I think of you."

Whoops. "Not that one."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.

"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.

"I won't laugh."

"That’s not what I’m worried about." I was worried about rejection.

He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.

I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.

"Please tell me why you care." His eyes still smoldered at me.

"Um, well, I imprinted on you?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

We both froze and I covered my face with my hands, hiding the blush. It was silent for a moment. 

"But what if I'm the bad guy?" He finally said, eyes pained.

"You're dangerous, I get it. But I’m just as dangerous, if not more." I almost snapped, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words.

He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

I shook my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."

"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."

"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door — with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap.

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both McKayla and Angela were staring at me. McKayla looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me.

"The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. 

"The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at McKayla’s table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares.

"Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed McKayla’s hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of McKayla’s middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead. The scent of it immediately filled the room. I had never smelt blood with my new senses before.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission — I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Beau, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone take Beau to the nurse, please?" he called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be McKayla who volunteered.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

McKayla seemed eager as she put her arm around my waist and pulled my arm over her shoulder. I tried not to lean against her heavily on the way out of the classroom.

McKayla towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes.

That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Beau," Mike said nervously.

"Beau?" a different voice called from the distance.

No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong — is he hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it . I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

McKayla seemed stressed. "I think he's fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

"Beau." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "Go away."

He chuckled.

"I was taking him to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but he wouldn't go any farther."

"I just want to go home. Charlie won’t mind." I ground out, now angry at myself. I was a werewolf for crying out loud. I shouldn’t get sick at the smell and sight of blood. 

Edward stood up then, talking to her. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."

Intimidated, McKayla nodded. “I hope you feel better, Beau.” She called, walking back.

Edward helped me up, the ice of his hand helping cool me a little.

"You look awful," he told me, grinning.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together.

"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself. He started towing me, his grip on my elbow unbreakable.

"You were right," I groaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am — but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly — I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Poor McKayla. I'll bet she's mad."

"She absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.

"I could tell." We looked at each other a moment. He wasn’t telling me something. I squinted my eyes at him. Then shook my head and continued walking. 

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

Fine mist had just begun to fall. It felt nice — the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky — as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand. I was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.

"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did. I fought the urge to break away from him. 

"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.

"You are so pushy!" I grumbled, balling my fists to stop the shaking.

"It's open," was all he responded. He got in the driver's side.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my forehead.

He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Beau."

I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.

"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan. I let out a small growl of annoyance. He just laughed.

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into his car. I wasn't very successful — I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.

"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.

He didn't answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give him the silent treatment — my face in full pout mode — but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

"Clair de Lune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too.

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house — I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He raised his eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me depressed.

"How old are you, Beau?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.

"You don't seem seventeen."

His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

"What?" he asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I teased.

He made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.

"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"Do you approve?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous… I wonder," he mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.

"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," he teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose." 

"What's your definition?"

But he ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face. My heart pounded harder.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.

"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract him. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

"What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens took you in?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them

"Yes." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.

"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier." Something was said in the tone of his voice

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

"Hunting?" I asked, and he nodded, his lips twitching upwards.

“Well, have fun.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" He smiled crookedly.

The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I glared at him.

"I'll see what I can do," I snapped as I jumped out into the rain. I slammed the door behind me with excessive force.

He was still smiling as he drove away.


End file.
